Profile
Blog
Photos
Videos
Day 190
So we moved out our apartment as part of our Goodbye Nepal phase, and moved into cheapy-delightful-crappy accommodation in Thamel, Kathmandu's red-light district (and on reflection, a place we should have spent way more time in). Tearful goodbyes to our neighbours (theirs, not ours) and then we chucked 17 pieces of luggage, my ex husband, two daughters, current partner and a confused Nepali taxi driver and off we went. I felt bad about the nice lady upstairs who had filled our luggage with tepid, stale food which I duly chucked out at the first junction. Nice of her to try. On arrival at the hotel, I was momentarily subdued by no running hot water in the new hotel - I had been looking forward to a hot bath for 6 months. Rufus went out to buy sparkly wine to compensate. He's still fuming his mother forgot his own birthday so will probably buy a couple of bottles for himself for the journey back. Daddy mysteriously disappeared for two hours in the sex-drugs-massage capital of the world for several hours but remerged looking pleased with presents for everyone (except Rufus). The kids, having lived here long enough, were highly suspicious by his absence, and me - feeling cheeky - decided to milk the whole situation to my advantage. Not like me at all.
The best bit about New Year's Eve - as I have found out over previous years - is actually doing nothing, and instead having a nice New Year's Day. The last few years I have tried to remember this - there is no point staying up for the 'bells' instead, save yourself and appreciate a new year, a new day and a new you. So, determined not to be beaten, I am in bed (slightly pissed) at 6pm and am instead getting up early to get 'rebirthed'. Now I have read about this before and have decided Kathmandu is the best place to attempt it. Apparently hippy parents the world over squeeze their first-born back into a folded-over cheap mattress and sit on it - the child having to squrim its way out - and is thus reborn. Most children die through suffocation and there are many open child protection investigations around the world still live. But my version sounds lovely - in a serene candlelight spa with vigilant spa and a warm pool. It is generally only marketed to dissatisfied, mixed up, sad, lonely Westerners - I hear my name! Apparently I jump into a pool as the old me - take a few deep breaths (I haven't told them about Lungy so they may panic when they discover I can only really take one deep breath) - and then re-emerge as a much better person - calmer, thinner and possibly with two lungs. The girls can't wait. I have promised them no more shouting, no more clenching teeth and screaming 'I can't do this anymore' at any given situation. A new person. Serene and tranquil. Gazing calmly at stress as if it is an annoying little sister: smiling fondly at difficulty as if it is a stubborn child stuck in temper-tantrum stage. I will be mature, beautiful, 10 pounds thinner, wrinkle free ( and more importantly, I won't care) and a new person. A few thousand rupees poorer, but ultimately happier. Am away to sit in a lukewarm bath while I contemplate the new me.
- comments