Things I’d have done differently, now: Kathmandu Edition
I am now down to my last month in Kathmandu, Nepal – Month 23 of 24/Nearing the end of a two-year stint. Thanks to excellent support from the local staff at my employer, a massive house, and a quite helpful household staff, I’m among relatively few of my colleagues who’d still willingly stick around for a third year at the end of my tour. Unfortunately, I cannot, but if I ever return to here or a post with the same following problems, here’s what I’d do differently:
1: Hire a driver
Partly due to cost, partly due to the difficulty of scheduling occasional work, partly due to my own desire for control, I repeatedly shied away from hiring a driver. I’ve been aware for months that this decision, or failure to decide, was a mistake. My father drilled into us stories of how people would intentionally incite an accident with a western driver in the least developed nations out of desperation, hoping to hold the driver liable for far more than they could earn in their defunct economy. I ignored that lesson, as it didn’t seem immediately pertinent, but was foolish to ignore the frequent protests, burning of vehicles, and savage beatings of drivers when the idle crowds on Kathmandu streets decide to hold one accountable for an accident, often for reasons that so defy logic as to deeply offend any rational person. I’ve been lucky so far, but still made the wrong call. Even worse, every day the commute from home to work requires passing two to five vehicles, over a tiny 3km length of road, due to incompetent local bus drivers and their ilk constantly stopping in the middle of the road, to say nothing of the myriad pedestrians walking three abreast down the street, ignoring a perfectly good sidewalk to their left. In addition, this city stretches even the most highly tuned sense of direction to the snapping point due to the local’s failure to name their roads and post signs, instead navigating solely by unlabeled landmarks and poorly defined neighborhood boundaries. Between all of these factors, I feel as though my blood pressure drops 20 points every time I leave the Kathmandu valley and part with my trusty car for a few days. The stress, the absence of a Nepali-speaker in the car, and the incredible amount of time necessary to find any new destination should have been more than ample reason to deal with the stress of keeping a driver in my employ.
2: Buy an inverter or massive UPS, and a real phone
There is no moral way to run a generator enough to live a western lifestyle in Kathmandu during the dry season. The mere 8 hours of power accorded the city during this season, combined with the simply incredible pollution, makes contributing to the problem on the scale required to run a generator 16+ hours per day simply unfathomable. While I felt strongly that this was the case, my wife was far more insistent, pushing for a continued decline in usage throughout our tenure in country. We found that a 700VA UPS proved adequate to run a wireless router and a DSL modem for roughly an hour when fully charged, and that it would be fully charged after 4 hours on city power. Even so, living offline and in the dark proved difficult until I grabbed a Nintendo DS and a handful of lengthy RPGs for the platform. Were I to return to Kathmandu, I would not hesitate to build a far larger battery backup system to run a light or three, my data circuit, and intermittently charge a laptop enough to run for 4+ hours a day and, in addition to that, a 3G phone (or really any phone with a decent browser and long battery life – Perhaps a solar-powered, Webkit-enabled PUMA?) to take advantage of initially wretched but now much improved wireless data quality. Given that, living off the grid for 16 hours a day at the dust-choked peak of the dry season would seem much more an achievement than a burden.
3: Pick a freezer and cram it full
That thing I said about 16 hours a day of load-shedding? Turns out a freezer and fridge deals with the problem and holds its temperature remarkably well under those circumstances, assuming you’ve got sense enough not to open them more than once or twice per blackout. I did, however, lose a fair bit of food in the freezer over our fridge in the first year. Eventually moved everything, and I do mean everything, over to our freestanding freezer and made a conscious effort to keep it as full as possible, thanks to this Instructables piece. Between that, moving the ice cream off the door, and moving the refreezable Flavor-Ice to the door, I’ve saved hundreds of dollars in my second year. Definitely a lesson worth taking home, and definitely a lesson I wish I’d learned a year sooner.
4: Never, ever, ever transit through New Delhi (IATA: DEL), especially without a forced overnight
Once was enough to sear this one in. I’ve been through the patently insane process of connecting from Sheremetyevo-2 to Sheremetyevo-1 in Moscow, taking a 30 minute drive through town to get from the domestic airport to the international airport, which have adjoining runways. I’ve been through Siberian airports that looked like they had a staff similar in size to the old gas station I worked at during college. I’ve been through minor African airports, and I’ve been through four hour layovers outdoors in -20C, snow-covered train stops. Still, while I can think of plenty of reasons to do any of those again, I would never, ever transit through New Delhi again. I’d sooner walk to Dhaka than relive this experience:
Flying in, the apocalyptic desert landscape surrounding the massive city is mighty depressing, but I started to feel like the airport might be decent upon landing. Real skywalks, etc. Nope – No such luck. Among the last off our plane, we hopped on some old bus and rode into the terminal. Not the end of the world, but was wondering if I’d died and gone to hell 30 minutes later. Entering the terminal, we saw a crowd of hundreds in the slowest immigration line I’d ever seen. Unfortunately, however, we chose to tag along with the Jet Lite guy that wanted to walk us up to a mysterious “transit lounge” rather than leaving the airport and checking right back in again, going straight to a Subway Restaurant. No, we, like lemmings, were roped into a group and dragged from line to line to line. Finally, some 90 minutes after arriving in the terminal, we reached the “transit lounge.” We were then, upon arrival, told that we were unable to leave. Even with multiple entry, multiple exit visas, even standing not a 3 minute walk from immigration, and even standing not a full minute from the security check before the regular lounge, we were told it was impossible to leave the lounge until two hours before our next flight, meaning we were trapped there, in the transit lounge, for roughly 4 hours. Disallowed to reach multiple tantalizingly close ATM machines, only able to access one Nescafe-branded food stand with cold samosas and day old hamburgers, we were stuck selling a fistful of Nepali rupees for less than half their value to get just enough food to get us through. Bad as it all was, the worst part was the staff – Completely unwilling to help, and often unwilling to even talk to the customers, the staff at the airport were absolutely the most worthless people I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. If we’d had children, I might well have snapped. Unfortunately, every story I’ve head of the airport from every friend I’ve asked was just as bad. Under no circumstances would I ever transit through Delhi again without an overnight, and even then…..
A couple other quick tips:
- Flying to or from Europe? This is the main way that folks flying from KTM get stuck flying through India, and the middle eastern routes generally don’t sound all that much better. One alternative that popped up before I left, but too late for me to benefit from it: Arkefly’s direct flights to Amsterdam.
- Flying out of KTM? They’re not kidding about the “three hours” warning, but don’t worry – All the flights are always late departing. Oh, and prepare to be groped – I was frisked no fewer than five times between the parking lot and a Jet Lite flight.
- That DS I mentioned? Felt a bit immature buying it, but thanks to Dragon Quest IV, myriad Final Fantasy titles, and numerous challenging strategy titles, I really don’t feel at all bad about owning it now. My Spanish Coach turns out to be pretty decent too.
- Speaking of the DS, the addition of passively powered speakers comme ça to a high battery life MP3 player was probably the most useful piece of tech I brought to Kathmandu, as well as being one of the cheapest. Remember those cheap, crappy, dollar store-style speakers that neither have a power adapter nor a battery slot? Those are made for Kathmandu’s 16 hour blackouts. Yes, slightly louder speakers like these might be a little better, but it was hard to imagine how quiet a house gets without power at the fridge, the whistle of the ventilation systems, etc, etc. Truly passive, unpowered speakers are plenty here, and dirt cheap.
- The Kantipur Post sucks. Gotta subscribe to a paper? Republica wont make you weep nearly as often with horribly written headlines. Heck, Im pretty sure they even have an editorial staff. That shows up at their offices on occasion. And speaks English. Still, these two Twitter feeds are a little more useful:
- Dish breakage without a dish washer seems freakishly heavy. There’s never enough counter space to dry a post-party load, and with water like this, it’s not safe to towel dry. Plastic cups. Seriously: Plastic cups.
- That thing I said about UPSes? Hard to ship ‘em in, and sadly these guys are the only game in town: Mercantile Exchange on Durbar Marg have an exclusive monopoly on APC UPSes, and there really aren’t any other nice brands available in town. Mercantile’s nice and all, but there’s certainly a sizable markup. Might be easy enough to bring an inverter in from the west, though, as long as you wait and buy the batteries locally.
