Monday, October 1, 2012
Kathmandu, That's Where I'm Going To
It's a little unnerving to look at your flight information and see an exclamation in the details proclaiming "This flight arrives two days after departure." Two days of airplanes and airports is a lot, but I've survived a three day greyhound ride, so I put it to the back of my mind and get to the terminal on time.
Do you have your connecting flight information? I stare at the ticket guy blankly. Sure, it's in an email, being beamed all around me, but the airport doesn't have wireless. There is a Starbucks every third gate, but no wi-fi. And isn't it the airlines' job to keep track of that? I bought one flight, not three. Well without proof of an onward ticket, you might be deported as soon as you land in China. My mind races. Surely I can conjure up a flight number or city name or anything-- wrong. My trip to Asia is collapsing before my eyes. But Walter at the ticket counter, the first of many representatives standing between me and Nepal, steps up to rescue me. He leaves to get his iphone, and I chafe at the fact that my technological reluctance is stabbing me in the foot. Sure, I could have just written the information down, but I'm not that organized either. I'm starting to see why smartphones are so popular-- you can only be as dumb as your phone.
So I make it to Shanghai, leave customs, collect my bags and reenter for a domestic flight to Kunming (population little less than New York), where I will again leave and reenter the airport for an international flight. This is the coldest airport I have ever been to; you can see your breath, I have a nine hour layover here, it is one in the morning and one hour into the city. So me and my new airport companions grab some KFC and crash in one of the airport restaurants. No one questions it. The next morning a merciful three hour flight brings us to Katmandu.
Relief gives way to panic. I don't have cash for an entry visa, and neither debit card works at the sole ATM. Again, I am saved by a stranger. If Karma is real, I am quite in her debt.
Do you have your connecting flight information? I stare at the ticket guy blankly. Sure, it's in an email, being beamed all around me, but the airport doesn't have wireless. There is a Starbucks every third gate, but no wi-fi. And isn't it the airlines' job to keep track of that? I bought one flight, not three. Well without proof of an onward ticket, you might be deported as soon as you land in China. My mind races. Surely I can conjure up a flight number or city name or anything-- wrong. My trip to Asia is collapsing before my eyes. But Walter at the ticket counter, the first of many representatives standing between me and Nepal, steps up to rescue me. He leaves to get his iphone, and I chafe at the fact that my technological reluctance is stabbing me in the foot. Sure, I could have just written the information down, but I'm not that organized either. I'm starting to see why smartphones are so popular-- you can only be as dumb as your phone.
So I make it to Shanghai, leave customs, collect my bags and reenter for a domestic flight to Kunming (population little less than New York), where I will again leave and reenter the airport for an international flight. This is the coldest airport I have ever been to; you can see your breath, I have a nine hour layover here, it is one in the morning and one hour into the city. So me and my new airport companions grab some KFC and crash in one of the airport restaurants. No one questions it. The next morning a merciful three hour flight brings us to Katmandu.
Relief gives way to panic. I don't have cash for an entry visa, and neither debit card works at the sole ATM. Again, I am saved by a stranger. If Karma is real, I am quite in her debt.
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