Tuesday 14th March, we arrive at Kathmandu airport after changing three planes and we’re feeling a little tired. As in any developing country, there are always people who want to carry your luggage, your bags and in this case even your offspring, to which Almudena reacts defensively taking shelter in between my legs. Luckily the bag containing the books I brought turns up intact on the luggage belt (note the singular). Next thing, a visit to the ‘Official Money Exchange Bureau’ and my first of a long list of frustrating affairs with so called ‘official entities’. They give me 3,000 Nepalese Rupees for 50 euros, I ask for a receipt and they try to dismiss me with a ‘no need, this is government’, I insist so they print on the computer a quite official enough looking bill that reads 4,080 Rs. I inquire about the magically missing 1000 Rs to what they vaguely mumble ‘commission’ and the clerk points to the sign above written ‘Tribhuvan International Airport, Yeti Money Exchange, Authorised Dealer’. I sign the receipt and I take mental note of my first lesson in Nepalese culture : whenever one reads authorised in Nepal one should read ‘the corrupt government turns a blind eye while this entity is robbing you’.
As the NGO people are not allowed in the airport, we make it through the doors and only then do I see my name written on a piece of cardboard. I smile to the person holding it, put my hands together and attempt my first Nepalese greeting: namaste.
The contact person walks us to a taxi and takes us to the Kathmandu Peace Guest House, which is tucked away in a quiet lane and is pretty basic, but has a loo and a shower and does the job.
We unpack and as it’s already late we go up to the roof deck to enjoy a roasted peach sunset. We meet other volunteers that are having tea there and they look delightfully surprised to see such a young one joining the beautiful but complex world of volunteering. Although we are all here for different reasons and with different purposes, a spontaneous sharing of experiences, recommending restaurants and giving advise takes place in an atmosphere of camaraderie jotted with lots of email address exchanging. The Guest House is a sort of meeting point where one is expected to gradually adapt to the Nepalese reality and ease the cultural shock before one is sent to one’s placement. Being here for such a specific task (giving the TEFOL seminar) and such a short time (most volunteers stay one to three months compared to our two weeks) we are not having language lessons. Yet being a language teacher myself I can’t help my curiosity and I learn my second Nepalese word as we head for the dinning room : piro (spicy). The scalding Nepalese food will be something to be avoided the rest of our trip and I decide to stick to Chinese fried noodles or rice for little Almudena. There’s no use in asking them to cook mild, again it is not the language acting as a barrier, it is the differences in meaning attached to it that provokes misunderstanding. So, for the sake of enlightenment and cross cultural experiences I’ll summarise our first day : official=corrupted, mild=very, very hot.
