7:30 am. I open my eyes and listen to the merchants and beggars outside my window shouting their services or crying their needs, always in the same escalating tone every morning, "pariGANHO!" or something like that. I still lie in bed fully dressed and wrapped in my sleeping bag because there is no indoor heating in Kathmandu. I eventually rise to go outside and the air is crisp and sweet, I have many times read the description of sweet air in books but always thought it was some sort of poetic statement for literature's sake. Despite the lack of white around me and the grinning cinnamon faces unconcerned with a holiday such as mine, it still feels like Christmas. Didi (big sister in Nepali) calls me to breakfast. A hard boiled egg, bread with jam and some milk tea. She apologizes, as she does every morning, for sleeping in and thus why the meager breakfast. I say that it is alright, hiding my disappointment, knowing on days when she does get up early enough, it's French toast.
On my two to three mile trek to my office, a.k.a. downtown Kathmandu, I daydream of unimportant things and then try to remember that I am in Nepal and should not simply admire the sidewalk with my gaze. Along the sidewalk I run into some friends of mine, six to twelve years old, running into traffic to sell postcards and posters to tourists and generous Nepali, (money is more immediately important than school). They stop me and we shake hands; they ask when is Christmas and I tell them just a few days more. "And then sweets!?" "Yes, and then sweets." I say good by and head further into Thamel. The boys here are much more aggressive with their questions and demands than the kids working the traffic. You can imagine them, six sometimes more, huddled close to me, feeling my pockets, touching my camera and occasionally playfully trying to hit me in the groin. Soon they all settle down with a communal cigarette and begin to tell me that the local police have told them to leave, that they can't sleep here anymore. "This is our Territory, where will we go?" their eyes cry at me. I tell them I will bring them the number of a person who can help. They say "Tomorrow?" I respond and go on my way.
Upon my walk, a man sitting on the side yells out, "Sir I like your shoes, please may I ask how much?" I have been approached many times like this, although never about the shoes, sometimes it's my camera or my jacket, but either way I sluggishly walk over to him knowing what is to come and try to express my impatience. "I don't know this brand what is it?" referring to my Nike's. "It is the same as your jacket." I reply, with a cunning tone letting him know I am on to him. After the niceties are through he begins to tell me of how he would like to chat over some tea just as a friendly Nepali gesture, I tell him no thank you, knowing that he owns a jewelry store and is looking for business. He responds as if I have been rude, "You have no time for me?" and I want to say, "No I don't have time for you. I don't have time for Liars and Looters, Scoundrels and schemes. It is you sir who give Nepal a bad name and I will not burden my soul with your scummy presence." But all I manage is, "I am very busy."
As I continue on, I soak everything in. The old woman smoking on the stupa watching her peppers and the potential buyer walk past. To the left are mounds of intestines and ox jaws on a table, of which I have no idea for their use. And amongst all of this: beads, blankets, pots and shoes all with their corresponding sales person shouting out their bargains. The prices all sound so good, but I know as a white, I will pay double. I find more of my friends further down than from their normal hang out. No marbles today, just some glue, some talk and some tag. The group is too big to approach and will only cause a scene if I enter, so I turn around an walk away, but one of the boys spots me and yells, "SATI!" (friend). I turn and am swarmed by a cloud of arms, hands questions and eyes all begging for my attention and affection. One boy starts to nibble on my arm like a dog playing with his master, (I have come to recognize this as a form of love generally only shown when huffing glue) while another boy slides next to me and looks through my camera. Then another friend comes up and says, "No condom, no ramro." (no condom, no good) confirming the lesson from the other day of HIV and the risk of syringes and unprotected sex. One boy understanding my distress amongst so many kids, pulls them away and says "Goodbye Sati." I thank him and go on my way.
After this I begin my three mile walk home and mentally beat myself up over not having the courage to take some photos that I see pass me by due to the embarrassment of explaining myself or apologizing if the party becomes upset. I tell myself I will do better tomorrow and move forward. Soon after, I make eye contact with a very beautiful woman; it was only a moment but things like this have a tendency to feel a whole lot longer, she brakes contact and begins to stare in another direction but at nothing in particular, passively giving me permission to admire. I thank her with my eyes and sweep by as if the whole thing never happened.
I have one more stop before I get home; it's with a street family, whom I care for very much and have come to call the Jamal Family, (Jamal being the location in Kathmandu). they aren't there today and so I talk a little with the local watch mender, a woman with a lovely face, large proportion and a look that would make any police officer freeze. I then again start for home and think of Christmas day. The gifts I have bought for my family and friends and the smiles they will bring, and me getting out of a cab on Christmas day with a large garbage bag filled with things for my less fortunate friends, much like a Garbage Santa. In the sack will be over twenty empty plastic bottles for the Jamal Family, they can get ten Rupees a piece for them. My old hat, belt, and shirts that no longer fit me since I began this Nepali diet. And chocolates and photographs for all the rest, giving a smile and a memory to them all.
I hope you enjoyed my day as much as I did. Please know that on this Christmas there isn't a single one of you that escapes my thoughts. For this new year I hope all the best for your plans, and may you enjoy your time wherever you find yourself as much as I have here. I love you all and will talk with you later, Seth.