No Charge: Power Issues in Kathmandu
To imagine what load-shedding means, just picture yourself in a city with running water and electricity that functions about one third of the time. When a power outage occurs in the west, people will go, WTF? Okay, so something was short circuited, whatever. Flip the damn thing back on, etc. In the west, we take electricity granted the way we breathe the air.
In Kathmandu, electricity is a luxury. Currently, I believe we’re at sixteen hours of shedding, meaning technically two thirds of the time the city network is unable to deliver power. But that’s okay, because that’s what generators are for. We are never without electricity if we don’t want to be. Of course, the generator consumes five liters of diesel fuel per hour, which is why you need to seriously consider how much you need the hair dryer, toaster, etc.
Here people don’t even blink when the power goes out. Not even my son does. In fact, he finds it kind of amusing, even when he’s taking a bath. So somebody played a trick on me, he’ll be thinking. Funny. The light will be back on anyway. His parents look at it differently. It can be a bit of a nuisance if you’re in the middle of the movie and zap, the power outage stops the bullet from spraying the bad guy’s brains on the wall or that crucial love scene is deferred until the generator powers itself up. If you cycled around Kathmandu at night, it would not be so hard to deduct who has the generators (and arguably the means to afford them). Our house with security lights is lit up like Vegas.
Every week there is supposedly some schedule in your neighborhood that allows you to plan ahead and find out just when your power is available every day. That seems to be a little sketchy lately. It seems to me we receive city power when we need it the least, which is at night. Cute. That’s like applying chemo after the cancer ridden body has already decomposed.
If you look at a satellite photo of Kathmandu at night, it is the exact opposite of say, New York or Singapore. You’ll find a speck of light here, a bit there, but for the most part it is as dark as Amish country.
Sixteen hours without power means a lot of things to a lot of people. Businesses can’t operate efficiently with the absence of power. I have even seen cashiers in the most noble stores break out the old pad and pen and do the math by calculator. Construction projects are delayed as you can’t weld or use the power tools necessary to fit your components. Why also would people want to buy new appliances or TV sets if they are unable to use them?
I am always happy to turn the generator off as I have found out that it helps me sleep like a log. No noise outside (having a generator in your yard is the equivalent of a tractor running non-stop) plus the complete absence of light add up to a heck of a night’s sleep. That is, of course, unless city power is on at night, which then brings you back to square one. If I never considered electricity a luxury before, I sure do now.
In Kathmandu, electricity is a luxury. Currently, I believe we’re at sixteen hours of shedding, meaning technically two thirds of the time the city network is unable to deliver power. But that’s okay, because that’s what generators are for. We are never without electricity if we don’t want to be. Of course, the generator consumes five liters of diesel fuel per hour, which is why you need to seriously consider how much you need the hair dryer, toaster, etc.
Here people don’t even blink when the power goes out. Not even my son does. In fact, he finds it kind of amusing, even when he’s taking a bath. So somebody played a trick on me, he’ll be thinking. Funny. The light will be back on anyway. His parents look at it differently. It can be a bit of a nuisance if you’re in the middle of the movie and zap, the power outage stops the bullet from spraying the bad guy’s brains on the wall or that crucial love scene is deferred until the generator powers itself up. If you cycled around Kathmandu at night, it would not be so hard to deduct who has the generators (and arguably the means to afford them). Our house with security lights is lit up like Vegas.
Every week there is supposedly some schedule in your neighborhood that allows you to plan ahead and find out just when your power is available every day. That seems to be a little sketchy lately. It seems to me we receive city power when we need it the least, which is at night. Cute. That’s like applying chemo after the cancer ridden body has already decomposed.
If you look at a satellite photo of Kathmandu at night, it is the exact opposite of say, New York or Singapore. You’ll find a speck of light here, a bit there, but for the most part it is as dark as Amish country.
Sixteen hours without power means a lot of things to a lot of people. Businesses can’t operate efficiently with the absence of power. I have even seen cashiers in the most noble stores break out the old pad and pen and do the math by calculator. Construction projects are delayed as you can’t weld or use the power tools necessary to fit your components. Why also would people want to buy new appliances or TV sets if they are unable to use them?
I am always happy to turn the generator off as I have found out that it helps me sleep like a log. No noise outside (having a generator in your yard is the equivalent of a tractor running non-stop) plus the complete absence of light add up to a heck of a night’s sleep. That is, of course, unless city power is on at night, which then brings you back to square one. If I never considered electricity a luxury before, I sure do now.
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