Friday, December 5,
1997
 It’s a beautiful morning here
in Thailand. Madame seems very excited even though she
didn’t sleep well last night for some reason. She
ordered some breakfast from room service and had just sat
down to eat when she was informed that because of an
accident on the freeway, the departure time had been
moved up. Madame went into a total panic and spun around
the room like Ralph does when I’m nibbling on his
hindquarters and he can’t reach me.
---
When Madame went to the lobby she
was the last one there. Everyone was quiet, but Madame
was very happy. We got into one of those vans and very
slowly made our way back to that airport. “Uh
oh” I said to myself. Not another one of those
airplane rides. We stayed in the airport for quite some
time. Eventually we got on the airplane.
We must be going somewhere very
special for Madame to be this happy. She’s sitting
here drumming on her computer, drinking cognac and
listening to Tom Petty sing o/~ we gotta get to a higher
place and I hope that we arrive together o/~ The little
screen on the seat is showing the “Plateau of
Tibet.” Sounds interesting. Wow!! LOOK at those
mountains!! They’re huge and they are beautiful. We
must be at the top of the world.
 We’re circling over a large city. The
buildings are mostly red and the are organized pretty
loosely. The pilot and the little screen in front of me
says this city is called “Kathmandu.” I like
the name. I have a feeling I’m going to like this
place.
---
When Madame got off of the
airplane, she was met by a very nice man who was looking
for “Mr. Jones.” For a while I thought that I
was going to have to get used to yet another name for
Madame but soon figured that he was just mistaken about
the "Mr." part. Madame said that he was a
Gurkha. I wonder what a Gurkha is. He looked like a man
to me. Madame and her friends then had to wait in a very
very long, slow line. It had something to do with visas.
Her friend Alf looked longingly at the short, fast line
reserved for international diplomats and started making
comments about third world countries. Madame suggested
that perhaps he was just missing his customary First
Class expediency and a solution to the problem would be
to become an international diplomat. Madame seemed
serious about this suggestion. Alf did not seem serious
about it. Oh well.
After a great deal of hustle and
bustle, Madame and her friends were met by a very nice
young man named Anil. He drove big bus with “Tiger
Mountain” written on the side. I started wondering
if I was going to be able to taste a tiger on this trip.
I’ve seen them on that noisy black box at
Madame’s house and they look huge. All that flesh;
so little competition.
---
Now we are
relaxing in Madame’s hotel room. The hotel is called
the "Yak & Yeti." Both of those things,
from what I understand, and very hairy and I sure would
love to taste one. I wonder why humans name so many
places after animals and then never let any of the
animals hang out in the place that bears their name. And
then they have places full of hundreds and hundreds of
animals and call it a "zoo." Just another
mystery.
Kathmandu is
truly an intriguing place; I see why Madame likes it so
much. It seems so totally remote from anything in
Madame's real life. It's so colorful and disorganized and
the people are very attractive and they all seem to have
music in their souls. I’ll tell you why =I= like
this place so much! A little earlier Madame went for a
walk over to a building called Tiger Mountain. She
chatted and did some strange things with her little
drumming computer and then came back to the hotel. But
while we were out walking, I saw what heaven must look
like. Dogs. Everywhere. Walking up and down the streets,
in the alleys, in the yards. I have never seen so many
dogs. Once I get my bearings around here, I will have to
go exploring.
---
We ate dinner in the hotel
restaurant. Madame ordered a drink called a
“Yak’s Armpit.” I am not real good at
reading, but I thought the menu said “Amrit.” I
figured Madame probably knew something that I didn't. But
I smelled the drink and it didn’t smell like an
armpit to me. I was quite disappointed. (I actually found
out later, after my conversion to Hinduism and immersion
in the Nepalese culture that "amrit" means
"forever" - or something like that.) Madame and
Alf sat at the bar for a while, relaxing and talking
until it was time to go to the room and get some good
sleep.
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