Sick IV: gritted fucking teeth
Things I wish this week hadn't brought:
* knowledge of what the inside of a nepali gaol cell looks like (europeans couldn't legally keep an animal in there).
* eye witness testimony to ritual blood sacrifice, involving two decapitations.
* a few hours spent looking at the police noticeboard, by the window to the main street in Kathmandu, the one with the list of 'AMBUSH TIMES' marked in red.
* a night wearing insufficient clothing in a goatshed covered in blankets, waiting for the sun not to rise over Everest.
* the discovery that when three blokes in combat fatigues, riot shields and carrying M16s square off around you, showing cleavage and tears are the fastest way to get what you want.
* realising that talking to myself increasingly loudly is a Bad Sign.
* an hour spent idly looking through the policeman's collection of crims 'n' guns 'n' bruises snapshots.
* one lost fucking mp3 player (which had a damn near perfect mix of random tracks from all across the globe by then).
* having to have it pointed out to me that the line in an email 'thankfully there was a riot going on' isn't what you'd call normal.
* a moment where I actually walked into a bog and thought 'oh not bad, apart from where someone took a dump on the floor.'
PMT and Nepal do.not.mix.
***I'm okay, please do not ask stupid questions. Do you really think there's internet access in a Nepali gaol cell?
* knowledge of what the inside of a nepali gaol cell looks like (europeans couldn't legally keep an animal in there).
* eye witness testimony to ritual blood sacrifice, involving two decapitations.
* a few hours spent looking at the police noticeboard, by the window to the main street in Kathmandu, the one with the list of 'AMBUSH TIMES' marked in red.
* a night wearing insufficient clothing in a goatshed covered in blankets, waiting for the sun not to rise over Everest.
* the discovery that when three blokes in combat fatigues, riot shields and carrying M16s square off around you, showing cleavage and tears are the fastest way to get what you want.
* realising that talking to myself increasingly loudly is a Bad Sign.
* an hour spent idly looking through the policeman's collection of crims 'n' guns 'n' bruises snapshots.
* one lost fucking mp3 player (which had a damn near perfect mix of random tracks from all across the globe by then).
* having to have it pointed out to me that the line in an email 'thankfully there was a riot going on' isn't what you'd call normal.
* a moment where I actually walked into a bog and thought 'oh not bad, apart from where someone took a dump on the floor.'
PMT and Nepal do.not.mix.
***I'm okay, please do not ask stupid questions. Do you really think there's internet access in a Nepali gaol cell?
posted by Lectrice at viernes, marzo 03, 2006
9 Advice:
Hmmm.... bugger. But things will be better next week. I am sure they will.
Woah.
Two decapitated what, dare I ask ?
Sounds like you're getting very chummy with the local constabulary. Always good to have them on your side, I guess. Except, perhaps, in a country where they are targets for the Maoist rebels.
Hmmm.
Soren: yes, absolutely, but I wanted venting space, and what's a blog for, after all, if not bad temper?
Hey, waterhot, I sent you a postcard yesterday. :)
In this valley, the army are the most dangerous ones. Tomorrow I'll go to the next valley, where the Maoists are.
All the way through this journey it has amazed me how powerful a uniform is, and how deep seated European nervousness about guns is. If these were people in baseball caps, my previous life would take over, and I'd boss them about.
And: goat and water buffalo got decapitated. I left the UK not squeamish about what I ate or what I saw killed*. Not any longer.
* Though it was embarrassing to admit to Nepali people present that the only time I'd seen that much blood on the pavement in London, it was always human. So who's the primitive?
Yes, I bet that nepaligaolcell.com has a really slow broadband connection. Damn.
I hope this is not a stupid question (although I've been known to ask them) but... was it your cleavage that was shown and as an exchange for what?
The Nepalese king is still enthroned, eh. I wonder what the general strike attained.
ooh.. Not a good week then, eh? *hugs* Though, it is strange how you get used to these things. Guns become everyday. And uniforms - you get used to them. Once you get past the guns, they're mostly children with no other choice.
And the decapitation thing. Yeah, that got me in China, too. Halal cow. THere was a man on a bike used to bring them to market every evening. Then they'd kill them in the street in the morning.
Shouting at people is *good* though. Coz they just think you're a wierd Westerner. So they'll treat you funny no matter what you do.
And, erm... The inside of a jail cell??? Have you been swinging axes again?
*hug*
K: the strikes are the Maoists' way of showing who really controls the country to the beleaguered, corrup and democracy-defying king. [Or did, till the Maoists became a little too fond of media manipulation and city life, according to some*.] Re: cleavage, mine, and in persuasive appeal for information (I needed to report being robbed, and none of the army guys were telling about police station whereabouts; after tears and mild cleavage, suddenly I got a taxi to take me there.)
L: Once you get past the guns, they're mostly children with no other choice - wise words. Thanks. That helped.
It's the sandbagged towers with a pair of eyes behind machine gun sights pointed directly at your head, four feet away taht still unnerves me. I mean, fuckit, i'm just walking past, and it's not like you guys are going to win.
V: chuckle. There's only one tin can and no string!
F: ta. Hope you're ok.
(*Can you tell I've spent a week being indoctrinated in the mountains yet?)
"...a moment where I actually walked into a bog and thought 'oh not bad, apart from where someone took a dump on the floor."
Glastonbury 1992.
Sorry to hear about the mp3 player; glad that you can smile about the experience.
highrise
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