Greeted by throngs at Tribhuvan Airport

Though the Tribhuvan International Airport in Kathmandu is used by thousands of international travelers wanting to revel in KTM's famous atmosphere or aiming for higher-elevation experiences in the Himalayas, the amenities and lay-out of the lobby and gateways is pretty rustic and lowbrow. It surprises me how surprised I am that any "work" can get done in a "third world" structure (say in Mexico or in Nepal, as I've now seen) that lacks air conditioning, wall-to-wall carpeting, plush waiting area furnishings, and the scent of efficient corporate bureaucracy (akin to new car smell, if you get what I mean). Well, I had that feeling of incredulity walking through this hallowed building, which has seen the likes of folks such as Sting, the Fab 4, and an assortment of now-famous Everest expeditioners passing through its archaic turnstiles. But, work *does* get done in the KTM airport: checking and stamping of passports, basically. Most folks arriving in KTM usually have one bag--a backpack--so a high-tech system that hoists luggage from aircraft to airport terminal is not really necessary. You appreciate right away how scaled down, how simple things are gonna be in this country, er, kingdom. Yes, there's a king and queen here, and framed colored photos of them--smiling benignly--are everywhere, including the airport.

I lifted my bags to my shoulders, strode through the final corridor to the exit doors, breathing in the reality of the situation. Then, the frenzy begins.

As I exited the airport, I was greeted by a screaming crowd of Nepalese: taxi drivers, porters, hotel reps, rickshaw drivers. All of them male, all of them waving their arms and/or signs wildly, and all of them hellbent on your American dollars. I'd say there were about 200 people there, mid-afternoon, trying to eke out a tourist dollar living. Overwhelmed as I was by the din of this outburst, I knew I had an out. You see, my good friend Mary (who'd lived in KTM through the mid-1980s) had hooked me up with a Nepali family who owned a car and had agreed to meet me at the airport for a direct ride to the hotel of their suggestion. So all I had to do was stand back, away from the frenetic crowd, and scour the waving arms for a glimpse of a sign with my name on it. And there it was: WELCOME TO TIMAL ADV TREK TAMMY GOMEZ USA MR. BACCHU TAMANG.

Wow. Not the first time and not the last that I've walked willfully towards a person to whom I was entrusting my little life. Bacchu, Thulo, and Dhan--of the Tamang clan--reached for me with handshakes and warm grins. I felt like family had come to greet me. They quickly took my bags and led me safely away from the now-pressing crowd of men who didn't want to give up making a sell. Thulo took his place behind the wheel, of a nice jeep-type vehicle, while I climbed into the back seat w/ Bacchu. Dhan was very quiet, but Bacchu pressed me with questions in remarkably strong English. Thulo drove through the thick traffic like a pro, as I marveled at how closely we cruised past cart-pushers, bicyclists, moped-ers, pedestrians, and other cars. In some cases, we were less than 10 inches away from someone walking parallel to us. You could see the sweatdrops on people in the next car. It was hot, but it was dry--for the moment. And color, tints of every imaginable bright color, surrounded me right and left. It was an explosion of brightness, and I believe my eyes had never feasted so heartily in one immense moment.

Bacchu announced names of streets and regions of the city, some of which rang familiar (from all the preparatory reading I'd done), but mostly I just absorbed the sounds and smells, which almost equalled the intensity of the eye candy. The guys told me that I was to lodge at the Mont Blanc (famous Swiss peak, as I recall--many tourist hotels and restaurants have mountain-y or mountain-climber-related names) guesthouse in the legendary Thamel section of the city. Yeah, whatever, is what I felt. I had no basis for disagreeing with these sweet and friendly guys. I checked in at the front desk, insisting on paying for one night's lodging ONLY (hate being locked into anything). The Tamang guys walked me up the stairs to my second-floor room, depositing my baggage and taking their leave after reminding me to contact them if I had the slightest need or question.

"Mala" = garland of flowers. Did I mention that the Tamang guys presented me with a beautiful, hand-made mala of fresh flowers upon greeting me at the airport?

Did I mention that the Royal Thai Airline attendants gave each disembarking passenger a fresh orchid upon arrival in Kathmandu?

Did I mention that I felt as if in a flowery dream in that first hour of touch-down in Nepal?