The Game

This travelling thing is like playing an unfamiliar game with aliens: whatever you do, most rules of the game elude you. Everyone else playing the Game knows exactly what to do and how to do it and you just stand there stupid, trying not to look too confused (and usually not succeeding). And, when you finally think you get the Game, there’s always something new thrown at you, and you lamely realise that you only understood an infinitesimal part of the procedures.

For starters, you can’t know the rules because they’re usually drafted in a different language. This might constitute the first (and possibly the smallest) of inconveniences: there’s always the English language, which is, far and wide, somewhat (mis)spoken. Or else, you can always commit some essential words to memory (food, drink, bugger off, etc.). And, of course, you have the universal sign language, which has been known to have crafted some remarkable guffaws along the centuries. But when somebody sits down across from you at any given restaurant watching you eat your dinner while blabbing away in Nepali, widely gesturing and smiling, you tend to get the feeling that you’ve missed something… Best advice: smile, chew carefully so as not to bite your tongue, and wait until said somebody loses interest and leaves. It does happen eventually.

But the stares. The gapes, glares, gawks and gazes: those are the ones that probably have a whole tome of rules all by themselves. You’d think you’re in some exotic country. Well, think again: you’re the exotic one. The Game apparently states that there is nothing shameful about staring (unless you do it), so everyone will freely glare at you in the most awkward circumstances. Simply walking on the street attracts a couple of particularly long glances but those are easily forgotten. Eating is different, but we’ve been there already. Well, eating with your hands, as per local custom, will employ some medium-length looks, even if you’d think they’d find it standard Game play. And when you eat with your hands in a place that reinforces the use of forks and spoons, you'll be sure to be labeled as underground-level low class. But when you light up, now that’s a thing most Game players will probably interminably narrate to their grandchildren! Or if you have a beer: that’s also worth taking a note or two, or simply shouting the amazing fact to the friend that just so happens to be three doors down the road (or on another road, for that matter). There’s no end to the rules or, for that matter, to the exceptions of staring in public places. Still, even your exoticness will fade away when faced with other, more meaningful life events: we’re talking about weddings and accidents here. Those are stare-magnets that could change the Earth’s magnetic poles. People hang around wedding ceremonies just to catch a glimpse of the couple’s car, nicely adorned with garlands and the lucky couple’s initials spelled in flowers (A ♥ P), while at the same time, they gather around accident victims just to get a chance to verbalise their opinions and exchange thoughts on whatever accident they hadn’t really witnessed.

Other rules the Game concern daily life and its quirks: it’s obvious that, in a country where fuel is imported and is highly regulated, there should be lines for fuel. What’s not really obvious is that there are different queues for motorbikes and cars, and how and how much fuel you’ll end up with is even less obvious. One petrol pump had a maximum limit of NPR500, which is the equivalent of 3.7 litres of petrol (but which, having a bike and all, would last for about 100km). Another one, having about 50 bikes in a knot-type line sold an unknown amount of petrol but you had to stand in another line – a standing line, meaning that you had to stop the bike, get off and queue up in front of a cashier’s office – to pay for the petrol you might not even get (because you never know when it’ll end). And, having reached the standing line, you’d find out that there are actually two different lines, one for men and one for women. All this seems completely nebulous if, of course, you don’t know the rules of the Game.

The Game: any number of people will ask you where you are from and, right now, which FIFA World Cup team you support (whatever your answer, you mainly have to support Brazil).

The Game: honking in traffic. It’s sort of a must and whenever you don’t honk, you get stared at, and be sure it will be a different, penetrating type of staring that will make you want to have honked endlessly throughout your entire bike trip. You feel like you are the silent striker, who hunts down victims and enjoys harassing them by mysteriously appearing behind and avoid running them over at the last minute. On the other hand, if you do honk, the action will not be greeted with the same indifference, better yet familiarity as the locals get: you’re likely to be completely ignored by pedestrians and mildly tolerated by bikers and bus drivers, and, at the same time, stared at for kilometres to come. There’s a special honking code that you’ll never decipher, and it’s most probable you’ve used the wrong type of honking for any given situation. If you do try to reproduce the honking of, say, the bike in front, you’ll be ceaselessly disappointed because, while other traffic participants will acknowledge the first bike’s incoming signal, they’ll disregard yours. Every time your honking will have an effect on others, you’ll celebrate a small victory that hasn’t got a proper reason.

And while we’re on the subject… walking on the street: it’s customarily done by using the same side vehicles running in your direction do, which is, by itself very unnatural: cars coming from behind will be able to manoeuvre anyway they feel and you’ll have your back turned on them. This is a simple rule. You just do it. But when locals suddenly feel like bending the rules (and they’re doing that a lot), they’ll nonchalantly choose your side of the road for walking in the opposite direction and, furthermore, they’ll insist on squeezing between you and the surrounding buildings so as not to get too close to the traffic. May I remind you that, in this hypothetical situation you’re walking in the same direction as the cars; without doubt, you cannot see what’s happening behind you; pedestrians coming your way, who can very well see what the cars behind you are doing will try to edge out of their way and leave you, the unseeing one, closer to the potential harm. Now that’s rules for you!

As I fail to remember any other rules of the Game – my mind might very well be too jam-packed with unnecessary or secondary rules of the same Game –, I will have to update this post regularly, as I’m sure there are a lot more interesting and fun facts about Nepali life. ‘Till then…

Bikes staying in line at the petrol station