Small World in a Small Town
When people ask me to draw comparisons to Kathmandu Valley, I often mention Los Angeles, in particular the San Fernando Valley. I don’t think any native of L.A. will ever agree with that assessment. L.A. is much larger and has the fortune to be in the richest country in the world while Kathmandu is in one of the poorest. Kathmandu has nothing nearly resembling Hollywood, and there is as much beach here as on the moon. I suppose it must be the seismic properties of each place that prompt me to invoke this awkward match. That and a traffic that is excruciatingly sluggish given the right (or wrong) opportunities.
People can always tell you about big cities with a small town feel. Cities that have been bestowed this ambivalent honor include San Diego, San Antonio, Edinburgh, or even Munich in Germany. The makeup of these places have the bucolic footprints (millions of them) stamped all over the city, and yet you can’t help but feel a certain charm toward their somewhat innocuous qualities. Kathmandu is such a city, not so much for the fact that is as developed as a concrete plan for global warming, but more for people and its complete lack of cosmopolitan flair. The cows graze the tar of the main roads here like the tastiest greenest pastures of the Himalayas. Ever heard of the Beatles or Bruce Springsteen playing in Kathmandu? Neither have I.
But there’s more. Nepalis here know their city here unlike anybody. Never mind the streets, the allies paved and unpaved, or the various nooks and crannies begging to be upgraded until they are no longer just holes in the wall on a long desperate search for something as simple as an address. People know virtually every corner of this city, but it’s the people they will know even more. Every Nepali will have a cousin or sister of a cousin or a friend’s nephew living in some quarter here, and chances are that you will meet a person you know on the streets anywhere in Kathmandu more easily than you think. A remarkable event, considering that the population here easily exceeds a million people. I have run into people I know in Manhattan, Brooklyn, or Queens, for example, when there was not a snowball’s chance in hell, several times even. Not bad for a two year stay. Here that can and most likely will happen, oh, like every day.
And for the first time last week, I wish it hadn’t.
This occurred after the dismissal of our most recent didi, which is Nepali for nanny. After six months we have already gone through three didis, meaning the woman was just not right for our son. Conventional wisdom dictates that you should never fire somebody until you are certain that you have re-hired to fill that position. On the face of it, this can be quite cruel. Without her knowledge, the soon to be ex-didi is in the process of being axed while possibly chasing and playing with your child around the house. As a replacement for this didi, I found somebody working at a colleague’s house, somebody who came decorated with recommendations like generals are covered with medals. A person with a winning smile and a personality to match her remarkable work history. I hired her on the spot, knowing that this was it, that my chances of finding a better didi were as likely as Mount Everest erupting.
Well, Mount Everest just became a volcano.
It turns out I had hired the aunt of the outgoing didi. Needless to say, my dream choice for my household staff called the next day to excuse herself from working at our house, stating a bogus family illness. Nice. Think that could have happened in L.A.? The chance for such a story is there in any place in the world, just not as likely as in Kathmandu. It sure would make a good script for Hollywood, though.
People can always tell you about big cities with a small town feel. Cities that have been bestowed this ambivalent honor include San Diego, San Antonio, Edinburgh, or even Munich in Germany. The makeup of these places have the bucolic footprints (millions of them) stamped all over the city, and yet you can’t help but feel a certain charm toward their somewhat innocuous qualities. Kathmandu is such a city, not so much for the fact that is as developed as a concrete plan for global warming, but more for people and its complete lack of cosmopolitan flair. The cows graze the tar of the main roads here like the tastiest greenest pastures of the Himalayas. Ever heard of the Beatles or Bruce Springsteen playing in Kathmandu? Neither have I.
But there’s more. Nepalis here know their city here unlike anybody. Never mind the streets, the allies paved and unpaved, or the various nooks and crannies begging to be upgraded until they are no longer just holes in the wall on a long desperate search for something as simple as an address. People know virtually every corner of this city, but it’s the people they will know even more. Every Nepali will have a cousin or sister of a cousin or a friend’s nephew living in some quarter here, and chances are that you will meet a person you know on the streets anywhere in Kathmandu more easily than you think. A remarkable event, considering that the population here easily exceeds a million people. I have run into people I know in Manhattan, Brooklyn, or Queens, for example, when there was not a snowball’s chance in hell, several times even. Not bad for a two year stay. Here that can and most likely will happen, oh, like every day.
And for the first time last week, I wish it hadn’t.
This occurred after the dismissal of our most recent didi, which is Nepali for nanny. After six months we have already gone through three didis, meaning the woman was just not right for our son. Conventional wisdom dictates that you should never fire somebody until you are certain that you have re-hired to fill that position. On the face of it, this can be quite cruel. Without her knowledge, the soon to be ex-didi is in the process of being axed while possibly chasing and playing with your child around the house. As a replacement for this didi, I found somebody working at a colleague’s house, somebody who came decorated with recommendations like generals are covered with medals. A person with a winning smile and a personality to match her remarkable work history. I hired her on the spot, knowing that this was it, that my chances of finding a better didi were as likely as Mount Everest erupting.
Well, Mount Everest just became a volcano.
It turns out I had hired the aunt of the outgoing didi. Needless to say, my dream choice for my household staff called the next day to excuse herself from working at our house, stating a bogus family illness. Nice. Think that could have happened in L.A.? The chance for such a story is there in any place in the world, just not as likely as in Kathmandu. It sure would make a good script for Hollywood, though.
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