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| Dubai Airport |
The flights from Zermatt to Dubai to Kathmandu took awhile but were novel for me. I left Zurich in the evening on Emirates. In the wee hours of morning, we were flying over Iraq with pools of light below clearly showing a multitude of oil fields. The flight path went directly over Baghdad.
Then, just prior to dawn, the lights from small and large vessels were flickering below in the Persian Gulf. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persian_Gulf_naming_dispute) Sunrise over the desert was magnificent--filled with colors and variations in light.
The FlyDubai plane was advertized as having
winglets which seemed a bit lacking to me until Chris explained their aerodynamic function. I was 22 hours into my trip when I took this quick photo of one.
By the time the cloud cover broke up enough to see snow-capped mountains, it was late afternoon. Another spectacular view unfolded, this time of rose-colored peaks as the sun set. I felt like an ancient astronaut watching the sun rise and set, and rise and set, within the space of hours--a slower version of the 45 minute intervals seen by younger people from space.
Nepal's landscape at night appeared muted. Small clusters of dim yellow light looked like little spiders, or squid, or puma depending on how many kilometers of roads radiated out from village centers. Think faintly illuminated Nazca lines. Thirty minutes before arrival, the very British voice of the pilot informed us all that the landing would be not be of the usual variety as this was Kathmandu. I'm assuming it was an insider joke as the touchdown seemed routine to me.
A small terminal, multiple visa lines, two heavy bags, my backpack, and I had arrived. Decoration in the terminal was minimal--several small signs with facts about Nepal (the only one I remember said that Nepal had never been ruled by outsiders) and the arresting poster below.
Quechua, one of the major languages in the highland regions of Peru and
Ecuador, is spoken by about 10 million people, most of whom would be very comfortable in the mountains of Nepal, I would guess. So, I am wondering who is the target audience for this message?
Sunam Sherpa, a 32-year veteran taxi driver, was waiting just outside the door holding a sign with my name. (My arrival was just days before the national election and a general strike (bandh) was in effect. Considerable effort had gone into making my arrival safe and comfortable.) Within a short time the taxi stopped before a large gate, the gate opened, and at the end of the driveway stood my friend, Amjad, and my home for the months ahead.
It might be helpful at this point to explain how this adventure evolved. In the early 1990's I was renting rooms in my Mansfield Center home to college students who were attending the University of Connecticut. Amjad spent several years there as a graduate student in math and statistics; he met, and eventually married, Nacima, a graduate student in biology. We became friends and have stayed in touch as they became Canadian citizens, moved to Europe, Argentina, Zimbabwe, and now Nepal. They have three delightful children: Yaffa, age 4, Maryam, age 3, and Ayman, 6 months.
In late August, Amjad's work brought him and his family to Kathmandu from Harare, Zimbabwe. Neither of the two English language schools in Kathmandu could accommodate Yaffa and Maryam for this school year. In late September, as I was getting ready to leave Puno, Peru, I received an email from Amjad inviting me to open a play school for the two girls at their new home to bridge this school year. And so this adventure began.
Nacima was waiting in the kitchen with a warm greeting along with a delicious meal. The children were all asleep. It was as though we adults had been apart for just a bit and were now about to get caught up on the news and move on. I felt most welcome in this new home of my friends.
