Redemption

For the first time since leaving home, there is a sharp divide between Jeannie and I. Kathmandu has split us in two halves. It has that ability. On one side is an individual ecstatic at our departure, overwhelmed by the harshness of the city, underwhelmed by the reception of the locals. Kathmandu has a jagged edge. This edge scraped against my partner and nestled right under her skin. The chaos proved too dizzying, the smells a little too pungent. The wide smiles she has grown fond of in other places, the grins that help to offset the discomfort of underdevelopment, were just a little too lackluster in Kathmandu. When informed there will be a two hour power cut, Jeannie prefers it be told through smiling lips. So when the time came to bid farewell to our perpetually damp bed sheets and the yellowish brown water that sputtered from our showerhead, Jeannie was bursting with pent up enthusiasm.

I, on the other hand, found great redemption in the bitter qualities of this confusing place—the greatest of which was watching Jeannie. She provides me with an invaluable lens. The look in her eyes, the quick straightening of her spine, her carefully chosen footsteps—the way she responded to Kathmandu gave the liveliest of cities even more life. Seeing this world from her view makes it real for me in the way that is difficult to grasp on my own. Her reaction almost validates the reality of what would otherwise seem impossible or fake. I might not believe that a wild boar’s head, severed at the shoulder, skinned and pink all over, could be dribbling its last snort on a roadside table. Then I see Jeannie cover her eyes. I might not believe that a heap of trash, putrefying in a rancid bog, swarming with flies and maggots, could be piled so high on the bank of a river. Then I see Jeannie pinch her nostrils. I might not believe that a child, young and innocent, sweet-faced but hollow-eyed, could be sitting alone on a jostling street. Then I see Jeannie’s heart melt.

Once the shock and awe has subsided, and her blood pressure has returned to its normal state, I know Jeannie will appreciate where she has been. She has walked the streets that not many have, and she is better for it. In the meantime, however, I am relieved by the fact that we did partake in an experience in Nepal that provided some short term enjoyment for Jeannie.

We rose early on our third day and reported to the airport (where there is always an adventure waiting) to meet the Buddha Air Beecher 1900. We had two chairs reserved on this 18-seat, dual propeller aircraft. Twelve minutes after takeoff we were looking through oval windows at the largest mountain range in the world. In another four minutes we were crouched in the cockpit, staring through the windshield at Mt. Everest. We were flying through the atmosphere at 29,000 feet and I was eye level with the mountain peak. I was moved to shout something emphatic from the top of my lungs, but decided that startling the pilot at this juncture might not be in the best interest of my fellow passengers.

When I looked at Everest I was filled with this strange premonition that I will be back. I don’t know when, or how, or why, but I do know that I will look at Everest again—one more piece of redemption from this peculiar and striking place.