Death in Asia, Part I – Kathmandu
Death in Asia, Part I – Kathmandu Mistakes Man, Mistakes My wife and I travel a lot. Perhaps not as much as the average businessperson, but a lot no less. Especially abroad. But as much as we’ve traveled, we still make mistakes. These mistakes have led to missed flights, dangerous situations, wasted money, missed opportunities, lost property, lost time, anxiety, anger, frustration, and embarrassment. I wish I could say we’ll be mistake-free on future trips, but I know it’s not the case. On our four-week trip to India, Nepal, and Mount Everest Basecamp, we committed several mistakes. Not everything was entirely our fault, but still. And apparently our mistakes nearly led to my death, or so I was told. At any rate, I felt like death for about three weeks straight. So let this story serve as a warning to those that follow. Mistake #1: Trusting Someone Who Works Behind a Counter for a Living We were set to depart from Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) and arrive in Kathmandu, Nepal with layovers in Paris and Bahrain. It would only take us 32 hours in total. What a breeze. I suppose that’s what I get for traveling on airline miles. Checking in at the Air France counter was a typical encounter: Air France Employee: I have you checked all the way to Kathmandu. Us: Great. Thank you! Air France Employee: You will just have to exit the plane in Paris, collect your luggage, and check in at the counter for your flight to Bahrain. Us (thinking): (That seems strange. We have a very short layover in Paris. Why wouldn’t they just check our baggage all the way through?) Us: Ok great. Wait, will we have enough time in Paris to collect our luggage, go through customs, and then make it through all the lines to re-board? Air France Employee: Yes. Absolutely. You’ll have plenty of time. All Aboard After boarding the plane and sitting on the tarmac for almost an hour, we realized we were in trouble. But since there wasn’t much we could do about it, we decided to drink a lot and worry later. But after several drinks, several laughs, a nap, a failed attempt to watch a movie, and a pounding headache, we soon noticed we were descending into Paris. Our worries quickly reappeared. When landing at Charles de Gualle airport, we immediately went into “Amazing Race Mode” and pushed our way to the front of the plane as if we were exiting the Titanic. Long hallways, wheelchairs, and small children proved no match for our speed and agility. We found ourself in the connection crossroads with 25 minutes remaining until our next flight took off and just about tackled the first Air France employee we saw at a counter. Me: We’re connecting through the Bahrain but we need to exit, grab our luggage, make it through customs, and return. Can you help us? Air France Employee: Why weren’t your bags checked through to your final destination? Me: Good question. You tell me. (sarcasm completely lost on the employee) 15 minutes until our plane departed Air France Employee: Let me call someone. The best the Air France employee could offer was a walkie-talkie call to another employee near baggage claim. Our answers to some very important questions were relayed to the less-than-eager-sounding employee near baggage claim. Air France Employee: What color are the bags? Us: Black Air France Employee: What size? Us: Large. Us (thinking): (Shit, we’re not helping our case) 5 minutes until our plane departed Air France Employee: If we find your bags we will put them on the plane to Bahrain. You can pick them up there. The “if” in that statement particularly stood out to me for some reason. The reason being, “if” almost certainly meant they would not find our bags. Confused and discouraged by the entire situation, we boarded our plane to Bahrain. Bahrain In a small wing of the Bahrain airport we spent 8 hours waiting for our flight to Kathmandu. Well, waiting and hoping to see the arrival of our luggage. Every hour or so we’d check in at our gate to get a status update. Me: “Are our bags here yet?” Airline Counter Person:“What is your name?” Me: “I just talked to you an hour ago. We’re the couple who were waiting for our bags from Paris.” Airline Counter Person: “Oh, yes.” Me: “Yes, our bags are here??” Airline Counter Person: “No. Well, let me check. No.” With nothing really to do, we absorbed the sights, smells, and culture of the Bahrain airport. Airports be Crazy Sometimes Airports around the world are funny places. By that, I mean that you tend to see some very diverse people, but overall the airport seems to be a pretty genuine reflection and representation of the city’s population. In London’s Heathrow, you will certainly see more Oxford shirts, bespoke suits, Seville Row-like stuff on pale-looking people. In Miami International there’ll be more short-sleeved button-up shirts with the top two or three buttons unbuttoned, short shorts, and large gold necklaces on bronzed-looking people. In Los Angeles International there will certainly be more hipsters in sweatpants wearing sunglasses indoors. Even the restaurants seem to match. For example, I had the best mojito of my life while eating a cuban sandwich in the Miami airport. And I had Amazing sushi in Tokyo’s International Airport (Haneda). Etc., etc. Bahrain did not disappoint. I know we were in the Middle East, but I swear to you I was so surprised by all of the thawbs (dishdashas?) being worn by, well, almost everybody. I quickly scanned the room so my feeble brain could assess our surroundings. “It’s mostly men. All male goat herders. All huddled together on the floor. Wait, are they all really goat herders? This entire airport smells like livestock. So at least a bunch of these guys must be goat herders. But they couldn’t have all left their goats at home, right? Why do