Following the Circles

It is funny how much about this trip has not turned out at all like I expected and, as I have said before, how much I am continuously reminded of my own life that I live back at home in the states.

Last night for me was just another time in life that you realize just how often your life turns around in a complete circle, bringing you back to where you once came from.

I began to explore the nightlife and the city streets here at around 10 pm. I didn't take any written or audio notes so all of this is written based upon recollection and emotion. I cannot really call this reporting, but I can associate it with documentation and the power of observational feeling.

When I first began to think of Kathmandu and it's night life, I was originally drawn to the idea by people that I have met in the various restaurants and bars around the tourist area of Thamel. I find myself talking with them more freely than anyone else in the city, including other journalists and even photographers. It is as if the service industry provides us with a common understanding of people and a comfortable form of conversation always seems to evolve. I guess that the old cliché that you always spill it all to the bartender holds true nearly anywhere around the world.

Since I am here during the off-season, it is interesting just how few tourists that there are here. In the states I am a minority as a woman, but that is even not a true statement in this day and age. Here I am just a minority. It is interesting that when I walk down the streets during the day I am perceived as a target of financial gain, and I feel like prey. At night the world has changed on me and as I walk down the streets I am made to feel as if I am a threat somehow disrupting their world.

We started walking around the outskirts of Thamel and headed near the Durbar Square area. While passing through Chhetrapati, I first became aware of the different presence that this city has once night falls. In the square were several rickshaw drivers and taxicabs. As we passed through I heard several calls that I normally encounter on any walk around this city. It is always some sort of a call out for an offered service, be it a rickshaw tour, a taxi ride, or even for some good that is offered for sale at nearly any price, and is always followed with a smiling "madam" at the end of the proposition.

Though I noticed that something was said in Nepali following my head shake and reply of no, and by the events that followed I am assuming that it was not extremely polite. As the comments flew out I believe that my companion defended my honor, but once again all of this is through interpretation of tone of voice, body language, and hand gestures. I have always had a knack for reading people and it is proving to be quite handy while visiting Nepal and not understanding anything that is being said around you.

We continued to walk through quiet and deserted, rickety, old streets that are lined with trash, dogs, cows, and the occasional sleeping person. Other than some of the main squares, it appears that this city truly does retire early. As we walked through the darkened roads conversations became more natural between my friend and I. It was interesting the things that we talked about, and I was often reminded just how different our cultural backgrounds are. I must say that he is so smart and well versed on politics, social climates, and even from the past while of reporting on his country, war. But I must admit that it amazed me just how childlike, animated, and playful this other side of him is. We often found ourselves laughing out loud, mostly at my bluntness and honesty or at the slang and clichés that I would use that I am often unable to translate or explain. I find myself realizing that there are so many levels of experience and innocence and each of us has experienced completely different levels of each.

We came upon Durbar Square and I noticed that the roads had opened up and there was more light pouring down on the city here. Yet it is still dark, and it seems to me gloomier than the dark side streets that we had been meandering just a moment before. We sat on a bench to observe and rest for a moment. I find myself sticky and uncomfortable, as the humidity in this place causes my head to sweat so profusely, yet it is nearly always just my head and my face. I began to feel almost chilled as the night air breezes against my drenched hair.

I begin to notice once again that we are back amongst people. Not nearly as many, not as I would expect. I have been to this square a few times now in the daytime and it is filled with vendors, kids, touts, tourists, and just everyday people passing the time. I believe it was around 10:30 or 11 and I felt a bit confused as I expected a lot more socializing in this area. There was a small group at another bench to our right carrying on a conversation. I saw various people on their own amongst the shadows and the nooks and crannies of the buildings, either just sitting or even sleeping. Occasionally we began to see people passing us in the street as they headed presumably home.

We walked over to a large monument and climbed up very steep stairs in order to have a better view and a better angle to photograph from. Until this point I was not really comfortable in my own skin, and certainly not in any way comfortable in the skin of a photographer, and I had not taken any pictures. Sometimes when I am back in the states I find myself confronted with this idea of being a photojournalist and feeling at times uncomfortable photographing various things. Here, as I find myself uncomfortable at times just walking down the street, I can't even imagine myself snapping a photo. At night this becomes twice as uncomfortable, since I am stared at for being out amongst the streets at night, and I often think stared at twice as intensely for being out and accompanied by a Nepali male. Sometimes the apparent difference here between the roles of the genders is very difficult for me to accept, but I am finding myself more and more understanding that it is the product of a long established culture, and though it is currently going through many changes, there is still a feeling of shame and taboo that people are made to feel, that I myself have never really experienced until coming here. I have witnessed this in others at home, but never really in my personal role in my society.

As we sat high upon the steps of the temple, I looked out at the people amongst the streets. Bicycles rode by, families walked past, and occasionally there were some presumably drunk men holding hands and discussing what only made sense in my mind was the World Cup Game that they had just watched together. I took an occasional picture of this or that, but I think that my mind was still just in observation mode and trying to understand just where into this picture my role fell. Photographing at night is already challenging with low light, slow speeds, and any noticeable movement. My brain was not working as a photographer while sitting there upon those steps and looking down at the square. It felt as if it was challenged enough just trying to establish a setting, a scene, and my role.

I looked to my left and saw that the light had more intensity and also that there seemed to be more action and motion coming from the other side of the square. We headed down the steps and towards the light. We came across a taxi driver and he and my friend began to talk. It is always interesting observing a conversation that you understand absolutely nothing of other than the occasional head nod, or la la, which is like saying ok. I find myself once again instinctively observing body language, tone of voice, and eye contact in order to establish my own interpretation of this exchange. I notice that the boy is young. He appears to be a bit uncomfortable and I can't quite tell if it is the interview itself or if it is my presence, which is something that I have found myself wondering in many situations. They look to me and I am told that I can photograph the boy. I am filled in on some of the conversation and learn that the boy is only 18 and has been driving the taxi for around three months. Tonight the taxi has broken down and he will sleep in it until the daytime driver will be out to replace him and take the taxi out to the repair shop in the morning. I begin to photograph the driver by his taxi. The light is low and I struggle with my flash to get the background to remain visible in the image so that the environmental feeling of young and old will remain in the photograph in order to tell this young boys nighttime story. The conversations come to a close, as does my photographing. I notice that as we leave the young boy for the first time since meeting him, he makes eye contact with me and gives me a small glimpse of a smile and nod as we walk away.

We walk back to our previous benches and begin to discuss many things, both about this taxi driver and about ourselves. A small black dog has been following me at my side since much earlier in the evening and resumes his place at my feet while I sit. He has a horrible case of what looks like either extremely irritated and overblown mange on his back, or what was once a wound and the lack of care and cleaning combined with the dogs obsessive licking of the spot has caused it to spread to nearly cover his back. I find myself wishing once again that I could help these dogs and wonder at myself as I feel a bit of guilt that sometimes I find myself feeling more sorry for the poor animals than the poor people. When I see people and children in nearly the same predicaments, I find myself wondering why they don't try to stop the cycle of this poverty and begging, disablement and disease, and with the animals I feel more remorse towards the people for helping those creatures that they claim to worship and revere, for they don't have the ability sometimes to help themselves, and the environment that the people have created over the years has just made it worse for both of them.

Suddenly we begin to notice a dogfight brewing behind us. As a lone cow sleeps in the middle of the open square, the dogs begin to fight around it. I suddenly seem to observe more about this dogfight than I have about the countless others that I have come across since arriving here. All of the dogs have ganged up on one, this is common, but, what I notice this time is that all of the dogs appear to look the same, the same color, the same build, and the same tail, except for the one that they are fighting against. The isolated dog is of black and white spots while a large gang of ordinary brown dogs is harassing him. I note to myself just how alike people and animals are, and think about how often it is the odd man out that takes the beating. As the fighting progresses and the noise grows louder I begin to try and cover my ears and make the noise at least stop in my head, but I know that the noise that I am really hearing is my own voice relating myself to this poor isolated and beat down dog, both now and in so many other times in my past.

We finish up our conversations and begin to walk on, following the dark side streets and again finding a bit of an escape from our experiences that evening with conversation with each other. Though our language still has many barriers it is nice to see that when there is not much light to show us all of our differences, we can realize all of our similarities. I take a bit of comfort again in the laughing and joking as we talk of singing songs and dancing out in the middle of nowhere. And for once in my life I think that I may be able to see myself dancing. Maybe there is a possibility of stepping away from the wall I have put around myself for just a moment long enough to relax and just enjoy my surroundings without inhibitions of fear of other's opinions.

We find ourselves back into the lit square of Chhetrapati, where our evening had once began. Now the square where earlier the rickshaw driver decided to insult, is now filled with taxis and people, and a little cart has set up shop for making and serving food and tea to the few that choose to live out amongst the midnight. We wander over and try to fit in. This is impossible for me anywhere in this country, really. I am like a sore thumb and my camera typically just adds fuel to the fire. But we begin to relax amongst our surroundings and soon others do too. I do notice that one man who has arrived after us is watching me with a stare so intense that I begin to feel uneasy. I see him wander over to the two police and instantly know that something is about to happen. I cross the street to take an overall shot of the teashop, the people, and the square. As I am returning the police begin to confront my friend. I once again am in a position of language barrier as I realize that my friend is explaining that he is a writer and I just an American photographer and I presume that he is explaining what we are trying to do. I begin to notice the body language of the policemen opening up as their arms uncross and their feet begin to point out openly towards me, one even smile a few times and edges closer towards me. I smile a bit, but still seem to not make long or direct eye contact. It is at this moment I make a decision. Even if I do learn Nepali fairly well, there will still be moments that I pretend that I don't know a word, just so that people will not change what they had intended to say.

So we finish up our interviewing of the teashop crowd and I try to snap a few pictures. Once again it is as I am leaving that I begin to see the people make eye contact, smile at me, and nod their heads and join their palms with namaste farewells. And we head back towards Thamel down the dim side streets that are dark yet more comforting to me than the squares filled with people.

I knew even before entering Thamel that the main strip would be buzzing with people and socializing. I have walked down these streets many times at earlier hours and had a fairly good concept of what to expect. I had heard that it was a common meeting place for all sorts of locals, but what most people seemed to be inquisitive about is the transvestites. This to me seems strange, not that there are transvestites, but that it is still such a taboo. I have seen documentaries about the "hidden gendered" as they label here, in India and, I know that there is a growing awareness of the cultural aspect. I just assumed that it would be more of a cultural awareness growing here as well.

As we walked amongst the crowds of people in the street I began to see that in these crowds the presence of the transvestites is common and at night, amongst this street, this is the one time that it is accepted. In a way I feel grateful that at least they have this one time to feel as if they are welcome, but yet I also feel worse knowing all of the problems that the daylight brings to their lives. I can imagine the lives that this hidden life is forcing them to lead, be it drugs, prostitution, or just robbery.

For the first time that night though, I feel at my most comfortable. Most of this "city" crowd speaks English. Though some may have tried to be intimidating with their inquisitions of me, others were just open and wanted to know who I was and why I was here. I was just as honest with my responses. One gentleman looked to be nearing fifty, dressed as an upper class professional, and tried to be very intimidating. He surrounded me along with three young and trendy guys at his side and leaned up against a street light pole. He asked me where I was from, why was I here, what was I documenting, and what did I think. I honestly replied to him that I am from Chicago and that while in school at Columbia for photojournalism I have worked in the bar scene for many years. That upon coming here I wanted to know what the night life was like, and especially when the tourists are away, and that I was spending the evening just observing and causing no harm. He asked me what I thought of what I had seen. I told him that honestly it was no different from anyplace else that I had scene and truly no worse. That it bothered me less than many things that I had seen in the daylight in this same strip. And, that what I saw was a place where people felt the need to socialize and that I could relate to that, as much of my socializing back home is done late at night and with people in my industry. Too me this made more sense to me than most of Kathmandu that I had seen. The man then proceeded to inform me that he had heard some men talking about not liking me here out at night in the city and with my camera. I just shrugged my shoulders and nodded in reply.

As I looked for my friend I realized that he had not been as successful at his attempt to fit in to that part of the evening. This whole scene to him was so distant from his reality of Nepal and even Kathmandu. I saw him buy and pretend to smoke a cigarette as another attempt to be the journalist that fit in, but to any smoker, a non-smoker pretending to smoke is a dead give away. As I walk away laughing to myself I think again about all that he has seen in his career in this city that I can not even imagine, yet this to me is as natural as tying a shoe. I see once again how different our lives have been and how each of us has been sheltered from some realities and at the same time over exposed to others.

As I stand there on the street and watch him "blend", two transvestites very excitedly and curiously walk up to me and point at my camera. I ask them if they speak any English, they replay very little. I follow them as one takes my hand and we cross the street. When in the light of the storefronts they pose as I take their picture. It makes sense to me and comes full circle in my life as I have been in this same role many times while working back home. I smile and tell both ladies how beautiful they look. I get a pen from one of their friends and write down my cell phone number and email address. I am trying to tell them that I will get them copies. I think of finding my friend to come and interpret, but honestly for one point in the night, I realize that I don't want to spoil the simplicity of the moment and the understanding and communication that occurred when no real language was necessary.

I leave them, cross back to the other side of the street, and grab my friend and tell him that it is now time to go. As we head toward home I try to explain to him what had happened and how I thought that I could get a glimpse into this world that to him seemed unexplored and taboo. As I tried to explain to him just how much he did not blend and tell him of my experience, I just laughed silently and thought to myself after a moment. Between us some things are lost in translation and some things are better left unexplained. There are just different worlds where each of us fits in and then somewhere in the middle there is a place where we can relate to each other. That is how this world works out. We always seem to gravitate back to where we came from, but we always want to explore what we have never been able to know.